The Season's Trilogy II: Season's Ruler
by Boys Do Like Girls
Summary: Skyrim, 4E 202. The Civil War has left Skyrim devastated. The reunion with the Empire is tense at best and the realm is divided. In Windhelm the Kingsmoot has begun to decide and crown the next High King. Jarl Jon Stormcloak, the new Jarl of Windhelm is thrust into a world of intrigue where smiles are false and loyalties are as deep as your pockets. And a King will be crowned...
1. Jarl Jon Stormcloak

**Hello all! This is it. The next story! The next part. Two things about this story. One: it will be much shorter than the first, consisting of only a few chapters. Two: there is only one POV in this one, but Part III of the Trilogy will return to the original Season Unending setup with a whole host of new POV's. I think they're pretty cool. **

**Thanks to all you guys who have reviewed Season Unending. I'll thanks you properly next chapter but like I said, Unending is in hibernation and I am now active on this story, otherwise things would get too complicated. But review here, and I'll give you all the thanks you deserve. Sorry to you guys without accounts this time, but it really would be hard to do. Never fear though, you will be mentioned next chapter should you favourite or review. **

**Cool, let's do this. **

**Jarl Jon Stormcloak**

The chamber was small, with a large round table made of pure silver, with white gold patterns spiralling over its surface. The room was white marble and it glittered by the light of the torches. In the middle of the table, in an inset, with the tips just showing was the crown of Skyrim, a simple bronze circlet inlaid with draconic runes. They read, _He who wears this crown is King, and by that right deserves the loyalty of all free men. _He expected that he was the only person who could read them here.  
Around the table were nine seats, each elegant and imposing. Each was fashioned in a distinct style; that of the Jarl's Hold. In front of him, on the opposite wall, was the seat of Eastmarch, a solid mass of dark granite with silver thread worked into it in fine, but simple pattern on the cushions. He was pleased to see that the Stormcloak bear still roared its disdain in the silver thread, on a ved, _black_, background, almost untouched by the years the seat had seen.  
_My seat_, thought Jon Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, Warden of the East, Lord of Eastmarch, Marshal of the Old Armies, and also 'The Dragonborn'. Jon was dressed as a Jarl of Eastmarch should be. Unlike many of the Jarl's around him, Jon was dressed in silvery sky-forge steel mail, reaching to his knees. Under that was black leather, above it a long midnight blue doublet trimmed in silver thread that reached to just above the mails length. He had simple black leggings with his skyforge greaves and bracers, the bracers inlaid with small bear heads now. At his side, hung on a black belt with silver fastenings, was Kodaav, his hand and a half sky-forge steel sword, the ancient sword of Clan Stormcloak. At his back was a long black cloak trimmed roughly with dark grey fur. That was a functional thing, as the chamber was frigid and Windhelm was always cold besides. Jon thought his attire was cheap, as compared to the other Jarls.  
The kingsmoot was about to take place, at the strike of midnight. The Jarls of Keizaal, _Skyrim_, had gathered in this special chamber to decide the next High King of Skyrim. Jon was safe in the knowledge that despite what people wanted from him, he wasn't aiming to become King, but he got satisfaction from knowing that there would be little competition should he put his name forward.  
Behind him stood Ralof, his Housecarl, and an old friend. Also there was his new Steward, Brunwulf Free-Winter. Brunwulf was a good man, popular in Windhelm, and exactly the kind of person he needed to help him get to grips with the trappings of power.

Jon had only been given a few weeks before the moot had been called. It was of course important that they appoint a High King as soon as possible, but even so the timing annoyed Jon a little; he had been hoping for some time to get to grips with his Jarldom before he interacted with the other Jarls.

Also at Jon's side was his young son, Alsfur. Although Ysold, Jon's wife, had insisted that he stay outside, Jon thought he needed to start learning how to become a Jarl. She had agreed, with the exception that he be returned before one in the morning so he could get some sleep. Just the thought of Ysold made Jon hard, and he wanted this moot to be done with already so he could return to her.  
Jon bent down to his kul, _son_, and grasped him by the shoulder. 'I want you to pay attention, Alsfur. One day, you may be sitting in that seat and you'll need to be strong.' He smiled and Alsfur returned it, brushing dark brown hair out of his eyes, like Jon did with his own jet black hair.  
'I'll listen, and become a great Jarl one day;' he told Jon with all the confidence of a child.  
'That's my boy.' He straightened up and turned to Ralof. 'Make sure he behaves. This is important business.'  
'Right, Jarl Jon. I'll watch him.' Ralof replied, with his customary grin.  
Jon strode to his chair and sat Alsfur down in a seat on the wall behind him as the other Jarl's were doing to their own heirs. The Jarl's seats were close enough to the walls to allow the Jarl's to confer with their Housecarls and Stewards as the moot progressed, yet still allow them a degree of independence.  
Jon Stormcloak sat himself in his own chair. It was comfortable and he consoled himself with idea that if it dragged on he could just fall asleep. All the Jarl's had seated themselves now and the moon had reached a peak; Jon prepared himself. As a Stormcloak of Windhelm, the oldest family in Skyrim, possibly all of human Tamriel, he was to announce the moot. He readied himself.  
'My Jarls,' (tradition dictated that only the Jarl's spoke in a moot, everyone else was technically not present.) 'We have gathered here today to choose a new High King.' Jon's voice cut the air. As he controlled the thu'um his voice was distinct, clear and powerful. In this case it was immensely useful. All the Jarls watched him as he continued.  
'First, all weapons must be relinquished as a sign of peace.' Jon stood and drew Kodaav, noticing the looks it drew from the young heirs and the few glances from the more military of the Jarls who greatly respected Jon's prowess. He placed it in front of him, so the blade faced towards the du'ul, _crown_, in the centre of the table, but kept the hilt within easy reach. This was also custom, so if a fight broke out he could defend himself, but any grab for his weapon would be seen. Jon kept his dagger though, for it was used to draw attention in the moot by slamming it against the table.  
Together the other Jarls stood, and drew their own weapons, some used by them in past battles, a few ceremonial for those Jarls who didn't fight.  
They all sat together and Jon completed his last duty by proclaiming; 'Let us begin!'  
Jarl Elisif Kings-Blood the Fair sat on Jon's right. Solitude considered itself the next most important city in Skyrim and although the table was round, there was a subtle ordering system. All the Jarl's drew power from Windhelm, it being the first city, and because the King, or Queen, now resided in Solitude in general, the Jarl of Solitude claimed rights and resided on Jon's right. However as the chamber was perfectly circular with four exits; soon any primacy would be lost as the moot continued.  
'I, Jarl Elisif of Clan Kings-Blood, Jarl of Solitude, would put my name forward as High Queen of Skyrim.' She looked around, waiting for challengers. Her lilting voice carried through the chamber.  
Jarl Igmund Oath stood, breaking the silence. 'I, Jarl Igmund of Clan Oath, Jarl of Markarth would put my name forward.' As was right he had to present his plans if he won the crown, being the first 'challenger'. 'I would increase trade, especially that of Markarth and Windhelm, who could feel free to trade at exclusive prices for granite and silver.' He inclined his head to Jon, and Stormcloak returned it. Igmund was obviously trying to curry favour with a major Hold, such as Jon's, but more importantly he was trying to win the support of a great hun, _hero_; an important part of Nordic culture. Jon realised that he wasn't going to be able to be impartial. His position dictated that he couldn't.

By now, most of the Jarls were looking expectantly at Jon, waiting for him to claim. Jon didn't need to technically, but he stood anyway, and stated his own intentions;

'I wish it to be known that I, Jarl Jon of Clan Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm will have no part in becoming King. I will pledge my support to a candidate more worthy of the position.' He sat and ripples ran through the room. Jon himself felt slightly relieved that he was now out of the running.

Balgruuf took the opportunity to assert his own claim. 'I, Jarl Balgruuf of Clan Wind-Shifter, Jarl of Whiterun, would put my name forward as High King. I would ensure that crime is kept down and that the Jarls would keep their independence even as we are allied with the Empire.' The Jarls voiced their agreement at the last part. That was three of the Jarls who ruled major Holds now who had put forward their names. Only Maven Black-Briar, the new Jarl of Riften, having been appointed by the people in the recent Civil War, hadn't spoken yet. She stood.

'I, Jarl Maven of Clan Black-Briar, Jarl of Riften, would put my name forward. I would foster trade to all Holds and ensure that banditry was minimised in trade and crime.' She looked around, and sat. All the major Jarls had committed now, except Jon. He realised that it made him the most powerful person in this room. Suddenly, another Jarl stood; Jarl Siddgeir of Clan Stuhn, Jarl of Falkreath stood. He controlled a minor Hold, but a large one with a prosperous timber trade and wide, fertile lands. Siddgeir was also young, only a few years older than Elisif and the rumours of how he had first obtained his Jarldom were suspicious, at best. Jon didn't like him; he was greedy and arrogant, but well adept at keeping his true nature hidden form the other Jarls. But having the royal court at Falkreath was out of the question. He would have to improve Falkreath massively, a job he may ask his Jarls to help with if he should become Jun, _King_. And then Jon saw it; his plan. He wanted the power of being King, while giving Falkreath the boost it needed to become a major Hold.

'I, Jarl Siddgeir, of Falkreath would put forward a claim. I would supply free timber once a month to each Hold, and I would also build a new military fort in Falkreath Hold where young Nords could come to learn the arts of war and fighting. This, I would do if I was King.' Jon noticed the 'young Nord' part of his proposal. He looked at his own son, and at Balgruuf's own young son. Another attempt to curry favour seeing as war is an integral part of Nordic culture. It would be a good opportunity for young Nords to learn the prestigious art of war, safely. It was a good idea, Jon had to concede grudgingly to himself.

He sat and they waited. When no one came forward, the moot really began.

Jarl Korir of House Winter, Jarl of Winterhold, thumped his dagger on the table, and the Jarls turned their heads to look at him. He was a Nord in his early-thirties with thick, shoulder length auburn hair. He was dressed in white and light grey, the Winterhold colours, with a small silver crown, the emblem of Winterhold, fastening his cloak.

'I want to give my support to Jarl Siddgeir, who I believe would benefit us all with his policies. He would make a fine King.' He sat and they exchanged a nod. It looked forced though, and Jon regarded them suspiciously. The mood tensed. The moot had begun properly and the Jarls started to review past insults, alliances and other things in an attempt to determine who they would support first. This was a dangerous part, as anyone could be struck out, or win, in a matter of minutes.

The new Jarl of Dawnstar, a retired Imperial Legate called Brina Merilis stood. 'I pledge my support to Elisif, the Fair. I believe that she could lead us with grace and wisdom, into a new Skyrim.' Jon nodded, thoughtful. That was expected. They were both strong Imperial supporters, and their Holds bordered each other, even if they were radically different people.

Another Jarl stood, this time Idgrod of Clan Ravencrone, Jarl of Morthal. She was old, but still sharp and she confidently proclaimed; 'I pledge my vote to Igmund, Jarl of the Reach.' She sat and he nodded to her. Jon was the decider; he could vote either Maven or Balgruuf, or lend his support to another. He stood.

'I pledge my support…' Jon looked at Balgruuf, who he knew well; an honourable and capable man, as opposed to Maven, an up-jumped mead baron. '…to Balgruuf, of Whiterun.' He sat and they exchanged nodded. More murmuring as the Jarls realised that one, Maven, had been kicked out of the running, having obtained no votes, and two; Jarl Jon Stormcloak, 'the Dragonborn' had supported Balgruuf. This would give the Jarl of Whiterun a big advantage.

**At this point the Jarls **stood to take a break, intended for alliances to be made**, **threats to be shared and to let the Jarls refresh their minds. Jon moved outside the chamber and moved over to Ralof.

'Return Alsfur back to Ysold, and ask if she'll see me in the one of these rooms.'

'Right, my Jarl.' He took Alsfur by the shoulder after Jon had kissed his forehead and bid him goodnight. Jon then turned to Brunwulf.

'What do you think?' He asked the older Nord.

He pulled at his sadon, _grey_, beard. 'I think that Siddgeir would make a bad king.'

'So do I. He's too…'

'Arrogant, disdainful.' Brunwulf supplied.

'I agree. Not to mention lazy and incompetent. Under Siddgeir, Skyrim would suffer.'

'Yes, but, my Jarl, I think he has brought his support. I suspect even now he's doing deals.'

'Yes, but what is he trading and where is a minor Hold getting it?' Jon asked.

'I wouldn't worry now, my Jarl. Wait to see how he plays, and then we'll decide on the next course of action.'

'It may be too late.' Jon warned Brunwulf.

'It may, but a Jarl can't accuse another of false play, especially one as new as yourself, _and_ in a game where it is perfectly legal.'

'Aye, I'll wait. Until then I'll stay loyal to Balgruuf.'

'As you will, my Jarl.'

At that moment Ralof returned with Ysold, her brown hair flying, clad in a light dress. Her pregnancy was at four months now, and a slight bulge was beginning to show. She had also gained a little weight as a result, but Jon had never seen her more beautiful. The Jarl strode over to his Housecarl.

'Assign a man to follow Jarl Siddgeir.' Ralof looked confused. 'Just do it,' Jon insisted.

Ralof moved off and Jon led Ysold to an empty room down the corridor. He closed the door and turned to Ysold, who was watched Jon with an amused expression on her face.

'You know, if you wanted to see me so badly, you could have come to our chamber,' she told him playfully.

Jon smiled, but pushed the thought out of his mind. 'No, as much I'd like to, but it's about the Kingsmoot.'

Her expression became serious. 'What do you mean?'

'I've decided to support Balgruuf's claim to the throne. What do you think?' Jon respected Ysold's opinion highly, and he wanted to ensure they both agreed on his decision before he went to far with it.

'I lived in Whiterun Hold; he's honourable and just, if a little proud. He would make a fine King.' She looked at Jon carefully. 'Why?'

'Our son will one day be Jarl of Windhelm. He will likely live under Balgruuf's descendents, and I want to ensure that they will do well by him. That, and Skyrim needs a strong King… after my Father.'

Ysold's face softened. 'Oh, Jon, you can't promise that. The Septims were a good line, but even they had some bad stock. I hate to say this, but he'll have to make his own way… when he becomes Jarl,' she finished awkwardly. It was obvious what it entailed.

Jon felt slightly foolish, but she cupped him face. 'It's not stupid to care, just… well that was a little stupid.' She kissed him to show Jon that she didn't care, and he returned it passionately. His hands began to explore her body, before a loud knock rocked the door. Ysold pushed him away, playfully, giggling.

'Wait until after you've done your duty to do your… _other_ duty.'

'You'll stay awake.' Jon asked smiling.

She looked Jon up and down, before deciding; 'We'll have some difficulty with the mail, but I suppose I could wait.'

'It'll be worth it.'

'Oh, I know it will.' She smiled naughtily. 'Now go get us a new King. And do it quickly.'

'I will.' Jon slapped her arse as she walked past him and she giggled again.

Out of the room, Jon watched her go before turning on Carl Ralof, who had knocked.

'What's so important?' he said angrily, annoyed that he had been disturbed at such a bad time.

Ralof raised his eyebrows. 'You may be Jarl Jon now, but I remember the grumpy git on his way to the chopping block.'

'No, you're right.' Jon sighed and rubbed his face. 'It was uncalled for. But, Ysold was there and…'

'Oh, I know. No harm done, and besides I would abandon the moot for _that_.' He grinned. 'But you still need to attend said moot, which is beginning.'

'Ah, right. I forgot.' Jon began to stride to the chamber, trying to put Ysold from his mind with Ralof following.

'I know you did,' his Housecarl grinned.

**I hope that lived up to Unending's standards. Please write a review, and you will see more of Jon's reign as Jarl in Part III seeing as in this one he has only just gotten into the job. **

**Review and stay alive. **


	2. A Game of Words

**Do du do, du do. Here you go. Another chapter. As always I hope that its good and that you like it. **

**The thanks for you guys without accounts or who posted a Favourite, etc! To Delphine hater, thanks for the review! Er, this might seem weird, but what's a 'grind?' To That Crazy Halo Girl, thanks for the Story Favourite! To dhgan6, thanks for the Story Favourite and Story Follower. To Drakilian Black, thanks for the Story Favourite and Follower! To Jasmine R. Evans, thanks for the Follower and Story Follower! Thanks to you guys and those who posted reviews! **

**Anyway, I hope this chapters good!**

**Jarl Jon Stormcloak**

**The rest of the Jarls **were already seated, when Jarl Jon Stormcloak strode in, flanked by Ralof.

'Jarl Jon, a pleasure.' Siddgeir sneered. 'I'm glad you've seen fit to join us.'

'I was caught up. I beg your pardon, my Jarls.' He sat, and the moot resumed. Maven started by telling the moot that she was pulling out and then the remaining Jarls in the ru, _running_, began to argue their policies more fiercely. Jon noticed a few of them had changed clothes since the break. As it stood, there were four Jarls in the running; Elisif, supported by Brina Merilis; Balgruuf, by Jon; Siddgeir, by Korir, and Igmund, by Idgrod Ravencrone. Jarl Maven Black-Briar had gone out before and she was the enigma now. Although allegiances could, and would, change Jon suspected that they would stay like this for a while.

He turned back to Ralof, sitting closely behind him. 'You found a man to tail Siddgeir?'

'Of course, a man from the escort that you brought. Why was that?' he asked, curiously.

'Brunwulf and I have a suspicion that Siddgeir is doing some darker deals behind the scenes. Besides, I need a way to undermine him. If he was jun; king-'

'I'm aware of his skills as king,' Ralof said. 'He's about as good as me.'

Jon smiled thinly. 'I want to watch him, in case I can bring him down somehow.'

Ralof made a face. 'Makes sense, I guess.'

Jon nodded and turned back to the moot, where the votes were just being called. He quickly noticed that Igmund and Maven had been talking quietly before, but they had stopped now. The votes were called, the same as last time, except for one change.

'I, Jarl Maven Black-Briar, pledge my support to Jarl Siddgeir, may he reign long.' She sat, with a satisfied look on her face. She had regained some control of the situation. To Jon's annoyance that left Siddgeir in control for now. The moot was called to an end for the sul, _day_, and Jon's retinue made their way back to his quarters through the grey stone corridors of the palace. He was lucky that the moot was being held in Windhelm, as it allowed him to return to his real bedroom, while the other Jarls slept in guest rooms.

As they came up to Jon's chambers, he turned to Ralof. 'Don't interrupt me for anything, understand. I don't give a damn if a bandit army is at our doorstep.'

'Of course not, my Jarl.' Ralof agreed. 'I'll deal with it myself, to allow you and Lady Ysold some privacy.

Jon nodded. 'It's why I knighted you.' And then he went into his chambers to find a naked Ysold ready for him. Needless to say, the moot was quickly forgotten.

**The moot continued in relapse **for two days, with no Jarl willing to pull out, or change their allegiances. The third day found Jon Stormcloak stride out of the main chamber and lean his back against the wall, weary and frustrated.

'When will someone change their allegiance? It's becoming tiring.' He complained angrily, very unjarl-like to Brunwulf and Ralof. They didn't point out the obvious, that Jon could intervene himself, but then you often didn't with Jarls.

Jon raised himself, and looked around. 'Is Idgrod ready to change allegiance?'

'And abandon Igmund?' Brunwulf asked, thinking carefully. 'Yes, I think she's ready to shift in favour of another.'

'Good. Follow me.' He strode off in search of her, coming across the Morthal Jarl in a corridor a little bit away from the main chamber. A Nord in steel mail with a fur cloak on his shoulders was already there, talking quietly with her. On Jon's arrival they turned, and the strange Nord sized him up.

Stormcloak spoke first. 'I think you're ready to leave…'

'Carl Geridor Far-Rider, my Jarl,' he supplied, respectfully, noticing the bear head fastening Jon's cloak. 'I will.' He nodded to Jarl Idgrod and swept past Jon, head bowed.

Jon watched him go before turning back to Ravencrone. 'Who sent a Carl to treat with you, Jarl Idgrod?'

'I didn't realise you cared, Jon.' She replied, not intimidated by his stony approach whatsoever.

Jon smiled thinly and dismissed his Housecarl and Steward. He walked out of the corridor and up to Idgrod who was resting on a balcony overlooking the city. Jon leaned against it, a surveyed the surrounding land. Windhelm was busy with the activity of many. Smells and sounds wafted up to them, the taste of bread and ash. The ven, _wind,_ was fierce and it whipped against their cloaks and hair as the clouds moved apart to reveal a weak midday sun. Jon turned to Idgrod.

'I wanted to talk to you about…'

'My allegiance to Igmund? Doesn't everyone?' she said wearily.

'The Carl belonged to Siddgeir?'

'Yes, one of his lackeys. What do you want?'

'You already know,' Jon said shortly.

Idgrod's face only showed a little distaste. That wasn't a good sign. 'You want me to support Balgruuf?' Jon nodded. 'Why not yourself, Jon? You would make a fine king, and you could end this infernal moot in seconds.'

Stormcloak thought about that carefully. He already knew of course why he hadn't put his name forward, and it was simple enough to relay it. 'I have a wife, a son and a title. I just want to adjust and live. A Jarldom gives you that,' Jon said carefully; 'whereas kingship, well the others would be far too in awe of me. It would never work. By the end of it, I would just be ruling Skyrim.'

Idgrod smiled. 'The King does that anyway.'

Now it was Jon's turn to smile. 'When the Jarls let him.'

Idgrod sighed, nodding her head. 'The Jarls have always been too independent.'

'And you want to keep that independence,' Jon said smoothly. 'Either that, or let Siddgeir have us running around like dogs. I know how I would deal with that; but the question is does Skyrim want another Civil War?' His expression was hard, and serious. Idgrod caught the implication immediately.

'You know, I think Ulfric would have been proud of you. It's what he would have done. It _is_ what he did, with Torygg.'

Jon was thrown off guard and unexpected feelings of pain and guilt rushed through his body. 'My Father?' he said uncertainly.

'Ah, and the façade cracks! Yes, I said your father. You two are most alike.'

'_Were_ alike.' Jon corrected her, his face tight with suppressed pain. The wounds were still fresh despite Jon's ability to ignore them effectively.

Idgrod looked sympathetic. 'Yes, yes. News is slow in Morthal but even we knew quickly enough. I'm sorry, Jon.'

He turned away, gripping the balcony tightly.

'There's nothing wrong with love, or emotion, Jon. You Stormcloaks are all the same, all proud and independent. Emotion is to be feared among your ranks.'

Jon was getting angry now by the way she presumed to know about his own sires. 'Spare me the lecture.'

'Fine,' he said, not angrily. 'What I'm trying to say is that you would have made a good match.'

'Excuse me?' Jon was confused now. Idgrod was not known for the way she held a conversation.

'Strong, brave… independent. My daughter would have loved you. She still does,' Idgrod mused.

'What do you mean?'

'If you weren't married, and you were still a Thane of Whiterun, I could have married you to my daughter. She'll be Jarl one day.'

'And you assume I would have agreed?'

Idgrod looked at Jon. 'A Thane wouldn't decline the offer to marry a Jarl, especially one as beautiful and young as my own daughter.'

Jon had seen Idgrod talking to her mother in the past few days. The people called her 'the Younger'. She was pretty, but very goraan, _young_, only about thirteen years old, and she didn't match Ysold's beauty.

'But now,' Idgrod continued, obvious to Jon's awkward presence; 'you're married, and happy.' Jon looked at her questioningly. 'I heard you last night as I was passing.' Jon's mask dissolved into a faintly sheepish look and Idgrod actually laughed; a rare sound. He felt like a child in her presence. 'In any case, you're the Jarl of Windhelm now. Jarls can't marry other Jarls. They have a Hold to run after all, and two Jarls in one Hold, or Mara-forbid, one Jarl! No. I will see where my loyalties stand later, Jon Stormcloak.' And with that she walked off, leaving Jon confused and vulnerable as the wind whipped past him.

**Review guys, please, or I'll get a crazy Idgrod to talk to you aan then you'll be left even more confused than poor Jon. **


	3. A Message From The King

**The third chapter. Only about two left. (I said it was short.) It's all starting to heat up. Wondering how I did it so quickly? I was sick today, so I had time.**

**Anyway, my thanks to SantiagoYDunbar for the Story Favourite. To Sirwalterbeck, thanks for the Story Favourite, and to Seax, thanks for the Story Favourite too! To wyerking, thanks for the Story Favourite as well. Thanks to all you guys! **

**Anyway, I hope it's good. Things are getting exciting now! **

**Jarl Jon Stormcloak**

**It was the next day **and Jarl Jon Stormcloak was sitting at the silver table,his anticipation building. The talks had already lasted for a few hours, and Jon and Balgruuf had taken every chance to discuss their tactics outside. Jon had told him of his move with Idgrod, and now they were both waiting to see what she would do. It was Jon that called it, frustrated by the time they were wasting discussing pointless politics.

'Shall we vote?' Jon's zul, _voice_, cut through the air. The other Jarls quietened, and Siddgeir smiled, leaning back arrogantly.

'Has anyone got anything to say?' Jon asked.

'Yes, I have.' It was Igmund. 'I have decided to pull out of the race and I advise my good friends to all vote for Jarl Siddgeir, who would lead Skyrim to greater glory.' He sat down, clearly preoccupied with something else. He didn't appear too concerned that he had just lost, but the other Jarls were in a frenzy, talking rapidly with their allies. Jon leaned over to Balgruuf;

'This isn't good.'

'Yes, I know.' Balgruuf was flustered, and his hands were opening and closing at a furious rate. 'It gives Falkreath control of all Markarth silver.'

Jon leaned back slowly, his heart sinking as disappointment crept into his mind. Now they needed Idgrod to declare for Balgruuf, or Siddgeir would have more than half the majority needed to become Jun, _King_.

Jon stared at her pointedly, and she nodded before standing and declaring for Balgruuf. That announcement caused even more frenzy to ricotate throughout the chamber and Jon breathed a sigh of relief. Balgruuf was looking like a child on his name day and he slumped down on the table heavily, before raising himself and nodding graciously at Idgrod.

Jon's mind had quickly returned to the problem at hand. He suspected that when Igmund got word he was to be betrayed, he made a deal with Siddgeir, and in the process leant him the support of a major Hold and Skyrim's silver. This wasn't pruzah, _good_. Jon was beginning to regret talking to Idgrod about the moot. Siddgeir had gained even more support as a result of it.

As it stood Balgruuf had the support of Jon and Idgrod, while Elisif only had Brina Merilis. Siddgeir meanwhile had the support of Igmund, Korir and Maven. He was winning, with two of the Holds being major. He needed six for a majority, two of which had to be major, which he now had. Balgruuf only had Jon.

Stormcloak and Wind-Shifter exited out of the room together when the break was called, eager to clear their heads and get out of the lions den. They went down a few corridors, until they were safe from prying ears, accompanied by their Stewards and Housecarls.

'We need to win Elisif over.' Balgruuf began, without preamble.

'Zu'u ofan mir. I agree_. _As I see it, we need another major Hold. Elisif is young; she's little more than a girl. We could appeal to her girlish fantasies…'

'About Carls and dragons?' Balgruuf asked sceptically.

'She wants an honourable man in power; one who respects her,' Jon told the other Jarl. 'One of us will have to bonnar ourselves before her.'

'Bonnar?'

'Humble.' Jon translated.

'I see. I can talk to her now. I hear she is recently pregnant with her new husband. He's actually a cousin of High King Torygg, and she seems to like him.' Jon looked confused and Balgruuf elaborated. 'The Carl who fought with us in the Civil War?' Balgruuf smiled. 'You Windhelm Jarls hear little of the gossip. She married him last fall, after the end Civil War, and they've started well. In any case, be it a girl, my son is eight, or my daughter six. They would be good matches, should she have a child not set to inherit Solitude. I'll also name her onto my council. That would show her that I respect her opinions.'

'I thought all Jarls sat on the council.' Jon asked.

'Oh, they do. The council has no power over the other Jarls, it's simply called once a year, and those three, the king and two others, on the inner council are given titles such as Marshal of the Armies. It's a mostly empty honour, but one I should like to extend to you, once this is done,' Balgruuf offered. 'Should I win, that is.'

'It sounds like I falldeeper everyday in these politics.' Jon said warily.

'You're a Jarl. Such is the price you pay.' He turned, and a frown crossed his face. Jon looked round as well, and saw four men in mail, with longswords and daggers hanging at their sides approaching. He turned the other way, and saw another four. They were trapped in the corridor, which was fairly wide, at least ten feet across.

Jon slowed his racing heart and stepped forward calmly. 'What do you want kinsmen?'

Their leader stepped forward, and Jon recognised him as Carl Geridor Far-Rider. 'I see you two are getting very cosy in here. You wouldn't be trying to win support, would you?'

'Out of the way, Carl! Even highborn boys with a talent for bootlicking move aside for two Jarls.' Balgruuf told him.

'But, Balgruuf;' Wind-Shifter shot him a glare as he failed to address him properly; 'I've been ordered to see that you don't disrupt any of my King's plans. Bring him forward.' A guard in the livery of Eastmarch was shoved forward. Blood stained his surcoat. Jon trembled with fury.

'Move aside tahrovin_, traitor_, or feel free to taste a Jarl's steel. But I warn you, it had a sharper tang then boot!' Jon shot at him, furious. His throat was tightening, as it did before a thu'um.

'Just because you can say a few dragon words doesn't make you better than me, farmer! In the real world, you'll be my serf, and I would have treated you as you deserved. Count on it.' He smiled a dark smile, and turned to his men. 'Teach them the lesson.'

The attackers drew their swords, and Jon's party started to draw their own. A Nord ran at Jon, but Ralof intercepted him, slashing down his short sword, as his greatsword wouldn't fit in this corridor. Another Nord came for Stormcloak, and Jon fumbled with the hilt of Kodaav, before quickly leaping back to avoid the sword cut. It caught him on the arm though and cut a deep gash below his chain mail. The thu'um came out without thinking, tearing the man's weapon from his grip. The Nord fell back as Kodaav came free of its sheath and Jon opened him viciously from groin to head. The silvery blade shone with delight as blood gushed over the Jarl and Jon quickly dodged another opponent, then dropped down to avoid a blade swung at his back. Jon swung his sword to cut off the leg of one of his attackers, but the other one managed to kick him down. His opponent's blade slashed down and Jon turned, the point just slicing his face, and skating off his chainmail, tearing it a little. Jon pulled out his knife quickly, and threw it, in time with; 'Bo Amativ!' _Fly forward! _The dagger sliced straight through the man's hand, and buried itself in his throat shutting off the scream.

By then Ralof had appeared, and he hauled Jon up. The Windhelm Jarl looked around: Balgruuf's Steward was down, and Irileth, his Housecarl had been stabbed from behind. She choked out blood onto the ground. Balgruuf was still fighting, bleeding from numerous wounds, and so was Brunwulf, who had served in the Legions in his youth. Five of their attackers were down, but there were still three left. Balgruuf was fighting with one, their blades a blur. The other was pushing back Brunwulf, but the Carl himself was nowhere to be seen.

Ralof suddenly cried out in pain and Jon whipped round. Geridor had gone behind them in an attempt to stab Jon, but his Housecarl had taken it in his chest. Jon's thu'um built, his fury unmatched. It came out in a force of white hot rage.

'EVENAAR MINN!' The Carl's smile vanished as he staggered back, screaming, clutching his eyes. 'Kren!' The Carl's legs broke and he fell to the ground. Jon turned and leapt at the man fighting Balgruuf, bringing Kodaav down on his head. His fury broke the man's head in two, as Brunwulf's sword smashed through the last attacker's throat.

Jon looked around wildly, his sos, _blood_, pumping at a furious rate. Ralof was on the floor, and Jon quickly ran over to the Housecarl, who was trying to conserve his breath, as blood pumped out of a wound, under his heart. He looked up at Jon, his breathing shallow.

'Oengul's steel,' he coughed violently. '…is crap.' His breathing lowered and he dropped his head.

Jon let out a cry of anguish, his shout shattering parts of the wall. His teeth were gritted with furious rage as he spun around, looking for someone to kill. He was a fearsome sight, covered in blood with his wide eyes, dancing with fury.

'Jon, he's still alive!' Balgruuf said, trying to calm him down, but Jon pushed him away. 'We need to get him to a mage!' the other Jarl shouted in his ear.

Jon nodded, his rage dying quickly, and hauled Ralof up into his arms. He started walking quickly, staggering under his own wounds. Balgruuf hauled the screaming Geridor along, while Brunwulf carried Irileth. Balgruuf's Steward, Proventus Avenicci, had been killed in the struggle.

Jon led them to his Court Wizard, who looked up from his experiments with badly concealed shock. He began work quickly without asking any questions, calling over his apprentices as the calm of the stone chamber was broken.

'I'm going to rouse my guard,' Jon told the other Jarl. 'I'll have blood Balgruuf. I'll have it by tonight.'

'Jon, you're bleeding. You can't just attack another Jarl.'

'The traitor was Siddgeir's man,' Jon raged, and he left the room to find his men. It was easy enough, and they didn't argue with him when they saw the look on his face.

Jon had Kodaav draw, still coated in scarlet blood, as his household guard quickly fell in behind him. He nearly reached Siddgeir's chambers by the time Ysold intercepted him. His face was dark, his eyes alive with fury, but she pushed him back and he regarded her coldly. He raised Kodaav, but she stared him down and told the awkward guard to leave. Ysold took Jon into a corner, staring up at him with a determined edge.

'I know that you want blood, as is your right, but if you do this it could reignite the war. Deny him his right to the crown, and you'll hurt him far more than your sword could ever do.'

Jon looked at her, and his expression softened. She was right. Ysold was always right.

'But it's Ralof?'

'I know,' she said gently.

And then he started crying into her shoulder, his body wracked by huge sobs as the Stormcloak ethics were washed away in a sea of blood and tears.

**And another ends. Very nearly to part III of the Trilogy which is the one I've been working on for some time now! **


	4. Dangerous Confrontations

**Okay, here's another chapter for you guys. This one was satisfying to write, in a weird way, and I hope that you like. I'm sorry that it is a little short, but this story is coming to an end now. (I did say it was short.) **

**The thanks, to those guys who favourited, etc, or those without accounts. To Mega Kilo 69, thanks for the Story Favourite and Story Follower! To Geraldsford, thanks for the review! In my story, there is no such thing as Dragonborn or Daedric armour. No swords are enchanted at all. Magic is very low key and not as prominent. The sword that Jon has, and his armour, is the bets he can get. That said, I probably need stress how often his armour saves him from blows we never see. As for the rest of the stuff, I guess you'll see what happens. Also, thanks for your review in Season Unending. You have some cool ideas, but some of them didn't fit in with the Game of Thrones Skyrim I'm trying to get. However, you said about Jon talking to a dragon. That will be in the next story. To JHViperFB, thanks for the Story Favourite! To Delphine hater, thanks for the review! I'm really pleased you liked the fight and I REALLY pleased that you though my politics were good as that's something I'm always treading water with. I'm try and incorporate Maven's 'contacts' in the story. If not in this one, definitely in the other one. To Tyr'amun, thanks for the Favourite and Story Favourite. To floridayankee, thanks for the Favourite and Story Favourite. To CupNoodleSoup, thanks for the Story Follower. **

**Thank you all. Anyway, here it is. **

**Jarl Jon Stormcloak**

**Jarl Jon Stormcloak strode into **the room where Geridor was held. His guard was looking murderously at the Carl, their hands held tightly on their zun, _weapons._ They had all respected Ralof, some of them had fought in the war with him, and if Jon gave the order, they would only be too glad to comply.

'Leave us,' Jon commanded. They left the room and he turned to Geridor Far-Rider, tied to a chair, his legs splintered, his eyes gone. He was broken, but Jon intended to snap him completely. He had come straight from his attempted attack on Siddgeir, after taking off his cloak and heavy mail. His clothes were bloodstained and dirty, and they were badly ripped, but Jon didn't care.

He hauled up the Carl and threw him into a wall. 'Aan paaz dinok los pah huzrah qolaas.' Geridor looked at him uncomprehendingly, his face a mask of unease. 'That is the draconic language, and the one that took your eyes. Do you understand that? Am I to be trifled with?' The Carl was silent, but he was starting to shake and Jon's disgust rose only higher. 'AM I!'

'No, my Jarl.' He sobbed.

'Why did you attack me, and Balgruuf? WHY?'

'Why should I tell you?' he said, trying for an attempt at bravado.

'Because I control your life.' Jon pulled out his dagger, and pointed it under Geridor's chin, pressing hard.

'Please, the King will find us,' he said, whimpering. Jon's nah, _fury_, was rising with every response. His grip on the dagger tightened as he struggled to restrain himself.

'Good,' he breathed. 'I'll look forward to ramming my sword into his gut. Who is he?' Jon demanded.

'I can't tell you,' Geridor insisted, tears running down his face.

Jon studied his face carefully. 'Fine. Think about who's more dangerous then. Your "King" or me.' Jon swept out of the room, and headed straight to the moot, which was already recommencing.

**As Jon and Balgruuf entered **the moot, they noticed the shocked looks of the other Jarls**. **Igmund was the first to ask;

'What happened to you?'

Balgruuf replied curtly. 'We were attacked, and our own parties severely wounded. As it is, I am without my Housecarl, or my Steward.' He motioned to the stand-in Housecarl who stood behind him. 'Jarl Jon's Housecarl has also been wounded gravely. We are waiting for news as it is.'

'But look at yourselves,' Igmund told them.

Jon looked at himself and touched his face. The gash across his cheek had crusted it with sos, _blood_. His clothes were ripped, with sword slashes and were well bloodied. Balgruuf was no better. He had a dozens of small wounds over him, and his hair was crusted with blood. One of his eyes had a puffy look.

As Jon looked down, he noticed how light-headed he felt. He tightened his jaw and resolved to end this as quickly as possible.

They took their seats, and Brunwulf sat behind Jon. Balgruuf and Jon had decided to share his Steward's wisdom, as Balgruuf's was now dead. Jon could see it weighing heavily on the Whiterun Jarl.

The moot was uneventful, and it left Jon feeling worse than before. His head felt light, but pain hammered against his skull. He realised he had lost a lot of blood. It would be stupid to stay here any longer and so Jon began to stumble towards his chambers, and Ysold's care, when he heard Siddgeir talking to his retinue.

'…and then the farmer and that Whiterun Jarl stumble into the meeting, covered in blood, screaming "Attack, attack". Looking for an excuse for sympathy I think. They're losing so badly that they decided they'd have a pop at their Housecarls and pass it off as an attack. I knew that the farmer could never have killed a dragon. He's got dirty blood in him, even if his father is Ulfric Stormcloak…' Jon was already turning at the mention of Housecarls and as he strode forward, Siddgeir noticed him, and smiled arrogantly.

'Ready to accept me as King?' he said, smiling and stepping forward. 'I expected you to hold out longer, but what could I really expect from a peasant after all?' Siddgeir looked as if he was giving up something at a costly price when he said the next words. 'Fine, in my mercy, I'll let you stay on as a Thane of Windhelm. It is a ge-'

Jon slammed a fist into Siddgeir's stomach, his rage powered behind the punch, before he could stop himself. The other Nord fell back and threw a punch at Jon's face, but he easily blocked it and kicked Siddgeir into the wall. Siddgeir was laughing, winded, and Jon only felt worse than before. He turned, intending to leave him there, staggering when Siddgeir's friends grabbed him and threw him into the stone wall. One of them slammed a fist into his stomach, and one of his wounds began to bleed again.

'Take him,' Siddgeir commanded, spitting out a bit of sos, _blood_. Jon was hauled, barely conscious to a room where they shoved him to the ground. His vision flickered, and the retched up blood, scarlet and silver; dragon blood.

Alsfur came round the corner, his face curious. At least, Jon thought it was him. He had obviously heard the commotion.

'Bring him here, and then go to the farmer's chambers and get the whore. We can make it a family reunion.' He laughed and drove a kick into Jon's face, breaking his nose.

Jon groaned, trying to protest. He tried to rise and use the thu'um, but he was too weak. It wouldn't come.

'Where's your dragon magic now?' Siddgeir sneered. 'I'll give you something though. You are tough.'

Jon knew it was Alduin's strength that was sustaining him. His wounds must have been worse than he thought, and the prolonged beating was wearing him down. Rapidly.

He heard a scuffle, and his heart jumped in his chest as he thought about Alsfur. Fear was a weak strength though, and it barely opened his eyes. Jon turned his head so he could see the doorway and his heart was crushed down under a dead weight of despair. Igmund, and his guard were there, with Alsfur. Igmund had his hand on Alsfur's shoulder.

'What's this Siddgeir?' he asked, wearily.

Siddgeir looked at Igmund almost nonchalantly. 'We're teaching the farmer a lesson, aren't we lads?' They roared their approval and he turned to Igmund. 'Give us the boy, and leave. Our terms will still hold, and consider Balgruuf…' he thought; 'one less supporter.'

Igmund didn't react as he expected though. He was furious. 'Do you know this is! This is the Dragonborn. What are you doing?'

'Stand aside and hand over the whelp. Now,' Siddgeir's voice was oily, it lacked steel.

Igmund's made up for it. 'Let him go.'

'Or what?' he sneered at the other Jarl.

Igmund drew his zahkrii, _sword_, and the rest of his guard, _mun_, followed. He pushed Alsfur into the guard of his Housecarl and readied himself. 'Shall we settle this, in the Nordic way?'

Siddgeir looked unsure, and his, _faas_, courage, _paar,_ failed him. He backed off. 'Fine, take the peasant. He's no fun anyway.' His party followed him out and Igmund moved to Jon. The Windhelm Jarl looked up, draconic dancing through his head, and slid into unconsciousness.

**You know, I actually like Igmund. Just saying. Review guys because I think that we could really get a lot of reviews for a pretty short story. If you do, I'll be your best friend. Surely that's worth _something_, right? **


	5. The High King of Skyrim

**The last part. Next, I'm going to start off the last story in the Trilogy. It will have a whole host of POV's so hopefully you guys will start arguing over your favourite characters, and I will also set up a new forum for it, as hopefully it will lead to guessing, predications and debate, as I'm going for a game of Thrones approach. Characters will not be safe, and hopefully it will leave you guessing! I'll also set up a new poll. **

**Okay, the thanks. To DragonXander, thanks for the reviews! I have read The Inheritance Cycle, and I have gotten some inspiration from it throughout my story. As for Sid dying, well, you'll see. To Delphine hater, thanks for the review! I appreciate the faith in me as an author and I'm glad I made you hate Sid! To DW3321, thanks for the Story Favourite! To Guest, thanks for the review. All I can say is, you'll see. To Dicasy, thanks for the Story favourite. **

**Jarl Jon Stormcloak **

Jarl Jon Stormcloak woke up slowly, the darkness receding to reveal Ysold sitting beside him. Jon felt the surface he was resting on; it was a bed. He had been taken out of his old clothes and had them replaced by a loose shirt and breeches. He felt his head, while Ysold looked on anxiously.

'Jon?' she asked, cautiously.

'Hello, beautiful,' he murmured. His mind was clearing and he noticed that Ysold obviously hadn't got any sleep recently.

She let out a little scream and hugged Jon, who winced. She drew away quickly. 'Sorry.'

'No, no. It's fine.' He took her hand. A vahrukt, _memory_, flashed through his mind. 'Alsfur? He's fine?' he asked anxiously.

'You have Igmund to thank for that,' Ysold told him. 'He claimed that they were going to kill you. You scared me,' he said quietly. Ysold looked like she was on the verge of tears and Jon felt a pang of guilt; if he hadn't confronted Siddgeir, she wouldn't have been put through her ordeal.

He squeezed her hand. 'I'm so sorry. This is my fault.'

'It is,' she agreed, letting out little choking smiles.

'Do you want to get in this bed with me?' Jon let out a painful smile.

She slapped him gently. 'Can you think of nothing else?'

'Not with you around. I think you're a bad influence,' Jon told her, trying to put on a mock serious face.

'Well, you'll have to put up with it. I do pity the state of the Jarldom in a few years though.'

'Are you questioning my management abilities?' Jon asked, pretend shock on his face.

'Oh, no; of course not,' she said sarcastically. 'I'm just worried about how much time you'll actually spend managing things.'

'That's what Brunwulf's for.' Jon's mind turned to other matters and with a pang of faas, _fear_, he remembered his Housecarl. 'Ralof? How is he?'

'No worse than you were.' Ysold looked at Jon's face carefully before elaborating. 'He's began to recover. At one point they thought that he would pass away, but he's woken up now. He'll be fine. Rest and excused duties will heal him,' she finished pointedly.

'To Talos, if I'm going to let that lazy bastard sit in a corner drinking mead.'

'Jon!'

He held up his hands. 'I was joking. Can I see him?'

'Jon, you've been here for two days. You need to get some more rest. You nearly bled out; the mages were surprised you were still alive and the rate you recovered is extraordinary.'

'Turns out Alduin had some use after all,' he said darkly. Ysold smiled. She was the only person who he had told the secret of the Dragonborn; that they could absorb the slain dragon's power and it enhanced them, increasing their strength, speed and reflexives slightly, as well as granting them all the dragon's knowledge. With Jon's defeat of Alduin he had absorbed the god-like power the King Dovah had possessed; and although he couldn't use it in the way that Alduin could, he had been able to make some use of it. In tiid, _time_, he hoped to tell Alsfur of the secret. It was his greatest wish that he had inherited Jon's own unique abilities.

They sat together for a little and then Ysold did lie next to Jon, (fully clothed to Jon's dismay), under the covers. They stayed like that for a while, relishing each others company until Alsfur bounded into the room and jumped on Jon, causing him to let out a cry of pain, and Ysold shifted Jon across so Alsfur could lie in the middle of them. Jon's son was followed by Brunwulf, who leaned against the door, in scaled leather amour, with small bits of light steel plate supporting some of his more vulnerable areas. A longsword hung at his side, and on his other hung a dagger. Behind him came two guards, both dressed in the black of Windhelm. They were also armed in mail, with swords and axes.

'You can't imagine the joy I have in seeing you awake, Jon,' he said, smiling grimly.

'I thought you would have wanted any occasion to rule Windhelm without me,' Jon said, sitting up painfully.

Brunwulf brushed aside the joke, his face serious. 'My Jarl, the moot is closing. Elisif and Merilis are the only ones to be undecided. Their support is crucial to the outcome of the moot.'

'Without me? Damn it,' Jon struggled from the bed. 'Alright, let's go. Get me my zahkrii, my sword, and a cloak.'

Ysold was up as well. 'Jon, you can barely hold one! Get them to postpone it.'

Stormcloak turned back to his wife, his impatience showing. 'And wait for Siddgeir to send a party to attack you? Windhelm does not feel as safe as it did once.'

'We'll survive, Jon. You're being stupid now.'

'No, I'm not. It's time to end this moot.'

Ysold backed down gracefully under Jon's decision and nodded. 'Get it over with then.' It was strange for Jon to realise that he was still her husband and his decision final. It was not a feeling he wanted to get use to though.

Jon pulled on some leather boots, and buckled on Kodaav which Brunwulf handed him now before clasping his cloak around his neck and striding from the room with a light limp, with his guards falling in behind him.

'How's the mood?' Stormcloak asked Brunwulf as they made their way through the corridors.

'Decidedly anti-Siddgeir.'

Jon nodded, satisfied. 'Then its time to end this.'

They entered the chamber a second later, and his guards fell back at the entrance. Siddgeir looked disgruntled at his return, but managed a taunt anyway.

'Finally, Jarl Windhelm sees fit to join us-'

Jon turned on him rahgot, _angrily_, his patience spent. 'Shut your mouth, boy! I won't be belittled by a youth who can't even wipe his own arse, let alone grow a proper set of balls.' He turned away from the cowed Siddgeir and breathed deeply before nodding to the other Jarls. 'My Jarls.' They looked at him with amusement, while some of them openly laughed at Siddgeir humiliation.

Jon made his way to his seat, but hesitated, lingering with his hand on the back before moving to its side, resting his hands on the table instead. Jon still felt a little sahlo, _weak_, and dizzy, but he knew what he had to do now. The moot needed to end.

'I am not going to play this game any longer. I want a decision.'

The other Jarls looked on him in surprise, but it wasn't affront. Rather they seemed to welcome his forwardness. All of them, save Siddgeir.

'I know now that the only choices are Balgruuf,' he looked at him briefly before turning his gaze to Siddgeir, letting the scorn show; 'and Siddgeir.' He raised himself, with effort; his wounds were still painful. 'I was attacked, by Siddgeir and his men-'

'A lie!' Stuhn stood, staring at Jon defiantly.

Stormcloak was about to reply, but he needed have.

'He speaks the truth.' It was Igmund, still sitting, watching them. Ripples ran through the chamber but Jarl Oath ignored them. 'Siddgeir attacked Jarl Jon, twice!'

'No, wait.' Siddgeir looked genuinely puzzled. 'I will admit to the second, but not the first.'

Jon looked at him in surprise. 'You're not the "King?"'

'No,' bitterness showed. 'And it doesn't seem that I will be now.'

'I don't understand any of this!' It was Korir. 'Who's the "King"?'

The Jarls looked at Jon. 'Jarl Stormcloak, perhaps?' Elisif said, misunderstanding Jon's mysterious enemy. 'His father was king, and a good one, for what its worth. Why not you, Jon?' She looked hopeful, and Jon considered it. It was a tempting prospect, but he couldn't, could he?

'I would raise my sword to Jarl Jon,' Korir said, and Brina Merilis agreed with a grunt.

'So would I.'

The Jarls started chanting Stormcloak, all but Balgruuf and Siddgeir.

'STORMCLOAK!'

'STORMCLOAK!'

'STORMCLOAK!'

'STORMCLOAK!'

The noise slammed against Jon's ears and he felt sick. The suleyk, _power,_ was certainly tempting, and he would be fulfilling Paarthurnax's wishes of a united Skyrim, but it felt wrong. He didn't want to be king. He looked around uncertainly, not sure what to say, but then a voice broke the chants.

'Silence!' It was Balgruuf, standing, and looking round at them all. 'He will not be King!'

'Because you want the power for yourself,' Korir said, staring at him.

'No, you fool!' eh shot back angrily. 'I will do this because Jon doesn't want to, and I'm the only one who can.' The Jarls looked likely to protest. 'I am right though, aren't I?' Balgruuf looked around at them all, breathing heavily.

'Why will he not be out King?' Elisif asked, looked alone and vulnerable, like a lost child.

'Because he would have to rule you lot! You're like children, not Jarls! If Skyrim is weak, it's because of you. We need men of leadership, men of loyalty, men of strength. Jarl Jon is those things, but that does not make him patient, nor ready to lead. You know me, I am honourable, if nothing else. What do you want from a King, but stability?' The Jarls looked uncomfortable now. 'You are tired now,' Balgruuf continued; The Civil War has beaten us all down. What we need now, is a leader. Who will elect me as High King?'

Jon was stunned by the outburst, and heartfelt speech. He also felt like Balgruuf had gone a little too far, but he was right, in truth, and the Jarls knew it. They needed it. They just wanted someone to tip the scales. Jon raised his voice.

'Let us hope he will be the King Skyrim needs, not necessarily the one we want.' He turned to Balgruuf. 'You have my sword, my life, and my allegiance, your Grace.' He took Kodaav from its sheath and laid it in his palms, then knelt before Balgruuf.

The Windhelm Jarl nodded and touched him on the brow. 'I will serve Skyrim, and you, as best I can. Rise, please, Jon Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.'

Jon did, and the other Jarls came forward, the tide broken, but Balgruuf halted them. 'Not here. Follow me.' And like that, they had chosen a King.

Using his sword, he carefully took the legendary bronze crown from its resting place in the centre of the table, but left it balanced on his sword as he left the council room. From there he took the Jarls upward, after sealing the great chamber with a key provided by a servant who waited by the door, up the steps in the corridors of Windhelm until they reached the roof of the Palace of Kings. The sun was beginning to rise steadily, and Balgruuf climbed a set of steps until he reached the highest lookout, called Ysgramor's tower. It was in little more than a watch point, but the symbolism was noted nonetheless.

Balgruuf Wind-Shifter reached the top and looked down on them, as the sul, _sun_, rose and the red light wrapped around him, like fire. 'Your allegiance?' he asked, firm and calm as the light whipped around him in a dizzying illusion.

As one, all the Jarls pulled off their bracers, or gauntlets, or bracelets and threw them. Steel fell to the floor with a ringing sound and they knelt, Jon included, though he had already sworn his oath.

Stormcloak risked a quick glance at Siddgeir, but he looked beaten, and shamed. There would be no opposition now. Jon raised his head to look at Balgruuf, standing tall and proud, and started shouting;

'All hail, High King Balgruuf of Clan Wind-Shifter, the first of his name, Lord of Skyrim, Jarl of Whiterun. All hail the King!'

With a united voice, the Jarls repeated his chant until it rang across Windhelm, being quickly taken up by the men and woman of the city. In the far distance, Jon could hear it being picked up by distant villages in a great roar of sound. Soon, it would ring across all of Skyrim.

And now, Jon was truly content. His part was over. A King was chosen, Skyrim was united. It was time to leave the rest to other men.

**The last story will be starting soon. Hopefully it will get you talking, speculating, in protests about evil plot points! It should be fun. Hopefully, it will also be good. REVIEW!**


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